


Fireworks

by highkingmariot



Series: Sex Magic [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Magic, sensitivity spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highkingmariot/pseuds/highkingmariot
Summary: “So… his skin’s numb? Is there a counter spell, or is it going to wear off, or –“Margo pressed a finger against his lips to silence him, her features straightening into seriousness once more. “Calm your tits and listen to me. First of all, we took him to the infirmary, he’s fine, it’ll start to wear off in an hour or so. And secondly - they got the spellwrong. It didn’t make his skin numb, it did the opposite.” She widened her eyes slightly, staring at him like there was a key point that he was missing. So his skin was… extra sensitive? But why would that –Oh.Oh.--------Eliot gets hit with a sensitivity spell. Quentin just wants to make him feel better.





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> So this was _not _what I'd intended to work on for the last few days but certain people are enablers and I love them.__
> 
> __This is set after Magical and Public Indecency, but can absolutely be read on its own._ _

 

“Coldwater!”

Jumping, Quentin’s hands tightened around the book in his lap at the sound of Margo’s voice from across the room, and he looked up just in time to see her slamming the front door to the cottage behind her. Her eyes caught his across the room but she didn’t pause as she headed towards the stairs. Eliot was already a few steps up, he realised, and Margo’s eyes widened as she jerked her head pointedly after him.

He glanced around the room, but no one else had even bothered to look up when she’d called his name. Confused but knowing that there was no way he _wasn’t_ going to follow, he marked his page and was pushing himself to his feet when he realised that Eliot hadn’t even spared a glance for him. Which… hmm. He was used to being dragged into their shenanigans but something in the look Margo had thrown him had unease twisting his stomach. Dropping the book on the coffee table, he picked up his pace and hurried across the room and up the stairs.

He caught up with them by the time they neared Eliot’s room. “Hey, um. What’s going on?”

Margo spared him a look, barely, but aside from that they ignored him and he felt his frustration grow as Eliot opened his bedroom door without a backwards glance. Stepping forward, Margo pushed Eliot forward with one hand on the small of his back, and the choked off sound that he made as he stumbled forward only confused Quentin further.

Was that a pain sound or a surprised sound or…? He took a step forward to follow him, but stopped short when Margo slammed the door shut. His eyes widening in alarm, he stared at the closed door before turning back to her. “What the fuck, Margo?”

She met his gaze evenly, her eyes serious, and Quentin felt panic tighten his chest. _What was going on?_ Was Eliot okay? Was he upset with him? Was Margo? After a few torturous seconds her face broke into a smirk, and his immediate relief was matched only by his irritation. “That was mean,” he muttered.

“Okay so,” she said, ignoring him. Her hands came up between them like she was holding him back, a sign of her own excitement. Quentin still couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. “Eliot and I were sitting outside the Sea, just minding our own business –“

“Uh-huh,” he said doubtfully.

“Shut up, or I won’t give you this glorious gift.” Sighing, Quentin pressed his lips together and she nodded, satisfied. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. A group of dumb first years –“

_She was baiting him, right?_

“- were nearby, practising some kind of spell that was supposed to numb for your skin for extreme weather or something equally irrelevant considering that it’s nice and bright and sunny outside.” She leaned in close, lowering her voice conspiringly. “Except not only did they get it wrong, but they also apparently can’t aim for shit because the spell missed its target and hit Eliot instead.”

Feeling like he was getting whiplash from all of the back and forth his emotions were doing, Quentin shook his head to try and focus his thoughts. _How was this a good thing?_ “So… his skin’s numb? Is there a counter spell, or is it going to wear off, or –“

Margo pressed a finger against his lips to silence him, her features straightening into seriousness once more. “Calm your tits and listen to me. First of all, we took him to the infirmary, he’s fine, it’ll start to wear off in an hour or so. And secondly - they got the spell _wrong_. It didn’t make his skin numb, it did the opposite.” She widened her eyes slightly, staring at him like there was a key point that he was missing. So his skin was… extra sensitive? But why would that –

Oh.

_Oh._

“Fucking finally,” she said, smirking when she saw that he got it. “I figured you’d both appreciate it if I let you take advantage of the situation. I put my arm around him to help him up and take him to the infirmary and he almost jizzed in his pants, so do with that what you will.”

Quentin shifted from one foot to the other, unable to settle on just one reaction. He got what Margo was saying, and he wasn’t _not_ intrigued – okay, he was pretty fucking intrigued – but over-sensitivity also had the potential to be extremely uncomfortable, right? He understood the sound Eliot had made when Margo had pushed him inside his room now, and felt a rush of concern. “Is he okay though?”

Shaking her head, she sighed, her fondness mixing with condescension in a way that only she and Eliot seemed to master. “He’s fine. But fuck him or coddle him, I don’t give a shit. He’s your problem for the next hour or two.”

With a soft pat to his cheek, she walked around him and down the hallway in the direction of her bedroom, leaving Quentin alone staring at the door to Eliot’s. Feeling anxious first and foremost, he took a steadying breath before reaching for the handle.

Eliot stood in the middle of his bedroom, his boots and socks kicked aside, and Quentin watched as he shrugged out of his vest and let it fall with uncharacteristic carelessness to the floor. His hands shook as he pulled at his tie and Quentin quickly stepped forward, his stomach dropping at the frustration on his face. His hands were gentle as they covered Eliot’s but he snatched them away at Eliot’s sharp indrawn breath. “Jesus, El. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Eliot’s lips twisted into a grimace. “I’m assuming Margo gave you the run down.”

That was one way to put it. Quentin’s hands fidgeted at his sides as he felt his cheeks go warm. “She actually suggested I… that I, well…”

Eliot snorted before he could figure out a way how to put it. “Ha. Well, it’s a nice thought, thank you Margo. But just the feeling of my clothes has me on edge.” He plucked at his shirt, his jaw clenching in response. “This is a silk shirt, Quentin!”

His obvious distress somehow forced Quentin’s down, and he lifted his hands tentatively. “Maybe focusing on all of it at once is the problem.” God, he was really going to try this. He reached for Eliot’s tie again, touching him as little as possible as he unknotted it and pulled it free. Eliot shivered as it slipped around his neck. “Focus on me.”

Eliot’s expression was solemn as he looked down at him, his eyes darkening slightly, and Quentin felt a sudden flood of nervousness. His hands hovered an inch away from the top of Eliot’s shirt, and he waited for his short nod before he lowered them to slip the top button through the hole. “Tell me to stop at any time,” he said, his eyes firm on Eliot’s for a few more seconds before he dropped them to concentrate on undoing the rest of the buttons. Carefully, carefully, he let his fingers brush experimentally against Eliot’s stomach, and froze at his quiet gasp. “Bad?” he asked quickly, glancing up at his face again.

His eyes were half-closed, and his tongue darted over his lips to wet them before he spoke. “No. Not bad. The clothes make me feel like there’s an itch under my skin so bad I want to tear it off.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “You feel… not like that.”

Suppressing his own shiver, Quentin undid the rest of the buttons and then, watching Eliot’s face carefully, flattened his palms against Eliot’s stomach, making sure to keep his touch light. His eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting, and Quentin’s heart felt like it was beating in his throat as he smoothed his hands slowly up his chest under his open shirt, pushing it back over his shoulders, his hands trailing down his arms until the shirt fell to the floor. He kept his eyes on Eliot’s face all the while, watching for any signs that it was too much, ready to pull back at any moment. “Okay?” he asked, trying to put more confidence into his voice than he actually felt.

“Hmm.” Eliot’s chest started to rise and fall more quickly, and he resisted the urge to thread his fingers through the smattering of dark hair. “I think you should probably take my pants off now.”

His voice was gravelly and strained, and it took everything in him not to clutch tightly at his arms in response. Instead, he trailed the tips of his fingers back up his arms, his desire to keep touching him warring with his mind starting to second guess himself. He hadn’t come in here with that intention, hadn’t assumed that he’d want that, didn’t want Eliot to think he cared more about that than his wellbeing.  “Are you sure? If this is… if this is kind of messed up we can stop –“

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he said, grabbing him by the waist and leaning in, and Quentin’s mind went blank at the guttural moan Eliot made as his lips parted under his. Before he could even think about it his hands were in Eliot’s hair and he was gasping against his mouth, his body rolling forward against Quentin’s. Eliot jerked back a little when Quentin kissed him harder but then dove straight back in, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss and _fuck_ , Eliot was already hard and pressing against his stomach and he wanted… he _wanted._

He forgot that he was supposed to be undressing Eliot until he started tearing at his clothes and Quentin quickly followed suit, his hands scrambling at his belt buckle once Eliot pulled his t-shirt up over his head. Stripped down to his underwear, Eliot tugged on Quentin’s hand as he stepped back, letting go of it with a caress of his fingers against his and Quentin just stared at him as he lay back on the bed. Giving himself a shake, he stepped out of his jeans and climbed onto the bed, crawling over Eliot until he straddled him, taking care not to rest his weight on him too heavily.

Still unsure what kind of pressure wasn’t going to drive him crazy in the _bad_ way, Quentin stuck with what had already worked well so far, smoothing his hands up his chest again, and when his thumbs brushed over his nipples Eliot’s whole body tensed underneath him. Watching him carefully, Quentin repeated the movement, and when Eliot groaned he leaned over and pressed the flat of his tongue against one of them. “Fuck, Q,” Eliot moaned, and Quentin closed his lips over it, rolling his tongue over it again and again until Eliot gripped at Quentin’s shoulders tightly, his nails digging into his skin. “Fuck.”

Quentin hummed his agreement. It took all of his self-control not to press more firmly against him considering how hard and aching he was for him already, so when Eliot’s hand slipped around his back and down to his ass, dragging him down against him, he went willingly. His hips pressed down instinctively and his heart stopped when Eliot cried out.

Pulling back, Quentin looked down at him in concern, his eyes darting over Eliot’s face. His brow was furrowed, his lips parted, and was that _pain_ or… “Are you –?” he started, but he was cut off when Eliot arched up off the bed, taking his face in both hands and kissing him until his lungs were burning. The way Eliot was shivering underneath him was starting to drive him crazy, and when his head fell back against the pillow he moved from his mouth and started kissing his way along the sharp line of his jaw, resisting the urge to bite down on his throat when Eliot thrust up against him.

Quentin could feel the hard length of him pressed against his own through the thin layers of their underwear, heard his cries get louder every time he rocked down against him until it was just one long moan. He kissed at his neck, teasing him with his lips and his tongue before lightly, lightly pressing his teeth against his skin and then Eliot was lifting up between his legs, his whole body stiffening, his cry loud and ragged. His hands clutched at his back tight enough to leave bruises.

The tension seemed to leave him all at once, and when Eliot sank back onto the bed his whole body started to tremble. Uncertainty immediately twisting in his gut, Quentin tried to pull back, but Eliot’s hands moved to hold onto his arms, keeping him close. “No, please,” he said, his voice strained. “Stay on me, here.” He pulled him down closer and, making sure he moved slowly, Quentin settled back on top of him as lightly as he could. He shifted up slightly so that at least their hips weren’t aligned and he wasn’t pressing his erection against where Eliot was most sensitive.

Eliot’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, and Quentin carefully pressed his cheek against his waiting until his breath started to even out. It still hitched every time he moved. “Do you feel better?” he said quietly.

“About the same.” Eliot’s fingers flexed against his arms for a moment before relaxing them against his sides, pulling him just the tiniest bit closer.

Quentin let himself relax a little more as well, resting his weight more fully on Eliot and feeling surprised when the sound he made was one of relief. “I thought the pressure might be too much.”

“No, it’s… like comfort,” he murmured. “The mattress underneath me, you on top. Feels good.”

Bending his neck, he pressed his mouth softly to Eliot’s shoulder. “And this?”

Eliot made a choked-off sound like he was trying to hold back a moan and Quentin was going to go to hell, he knew it, but he didn’t want anything more than for him keep making those sounds. “More like… fireworks under my skin.”

“But not the itching kind like you said before?”

“No, not the itching kind.”

“Huh.” Turning his head, he kissed Eliot’s neck slowly, varying the pressure every few seconds and he both felt and heard him as he sucked in his breath and held it. “So that feels like… fireworks?”

Eliot was frozen beneath him. “Mmhmm.”

“And…” Lifting himself up again, he kissed his way down to Eliot’s collarbone, tracing down the jut of the bone with his tongue. “And that?”

His breath left him in a big rush as Quentin continued his way across his chest and up to the other side of his neck, keeping his touch feather light. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

Changing tactics, Quentin started to work his way down his chest once more, pausing to give proper attention to his nipple again along the way. They were hard, and Quentin flicked his tongue over them a few times before sucking them between his lips. Eliot’s hands found Quentin’s shoulders and dug in firmly before one hand swept up into his hair, holding him there. “You could keep that up, oh, forever if you wanted to,” Eliot gasped out.

“Yeah?” Quentin asked, and pulled away.

Eliot’s fingers tightened in his hair, but Quentin held firm. Feeling brave, he pursed his lips and breathed out slowly, and Eliot whined as his breath danced over his wet nipple. “Oh my god. Quentin.”

“Mmm?”

“Just… _fuck.”_

Grinning, Quentin gave in and licked over it again once more before kissing his way down his stomach. He bit lightly at Eliot’s hipbone. “I wonder if it has any impact on your refractory period?"

“I have a perfectly reasonable refractory period, thank you very much,” Eliot scoffed, and would have sounded offended if he hadn’t been so breathless.

“Mmm,” Quentin said, hooking his fingers into the band of Eliot’s underwear and tugging them down. Guiding his legs apart, he settled between them, watching Eliot’s face closely as he pressed his lips to the soft skin of his inner thigh. His eyes fluttered closed, and Quentin returned his full focus to what lay before him.

Eliot was only half-hard when he put his mouth on him, but he was confident that wouldn’t last long, not with the way he was already squirming beneath him. He licked over him gently, trying not to get more worked up at the saltiness on his tongue but it was increasingly difficult as Eliot’s cock twitched into hardness under his efforts.

When his moans changed from the oversensitive post-orgasm kind to the _oh god yes_ kind, he stopped teasing and wrapped his mouth around him. Eliot’s hips lifted off the bed and he held them down with a forearm across his hips, his other hand lightly circling the base of his cock to keep him steady as he took him deeper and deeper each time until he hit the back of his throat. Pulling back, he pressed his tongue against his frenulum for a few seconds before closing his lips around the head and sucking lightly. Eliot’s hands gripped tightly at his arm, thrusting forward under him so Quentin took him in as far as he could again, drawing another ragged groan from him.

He started to tremble, his thighs tensing beneath him, his breathing coming hard, and Quentin couldn’t believe he was so close to coming again already. His cries changed pitch – fuck, he was pretty sure everyone in the cottage could hear _everything_ – and Quentin pulled back, wanting to get a good look at… at all of this. At Eliot, desperate and writing underneath him, eyes wide and the flush on his cheeks extending down his neck, over his chest, his hair dishevelled and falling into his eyes. His throat worked as he struggled to form words, his hands pulling at his arm. “What – what – Q –“ he gasped, looking absolutely _wrecked_ that his mouth wasn’t on his cock anymore. He’d never seen him like this, and Quentin let himself just take it in for a few seconds, feeling himself grow hotter and hotter until he dropped his head again, taking him in deep in one move. Eliot’s cry was practically a shout, and Quentin moaned as Eliot’s fingers twisted in his hair, his hands holding him down, sitting up with a jolt and his body curling over Quentin as he came down his throat.

Eliot fell back onto the bed with a soft thud and a loud moan, and Quentin reluctantly let Eliot’s cock fall from his lips as Eliot’s hands dropped from his head. Trying not to focus too hard on his own erection, pressed against the bed, he rested his head against Eliot’s thigh and looked up at him as he tried to catch his breath. Eliot’s hands covered his face, but he thought he caught a grin through the gap between them, and when he heard his quiet laughter he pressed his own smile against his thigh.

He’d entered this room afraid to touch him, but now, watching his constantly ready to jump out of his skin in a _good_ way…

Climbing up Eliot’s body, he kissed the centre of his chest before rolling onto his side beside him, smiling at Eliot when he turned to face him. Quentin licked his lips, and didn’t miss the look, both tired and hungry, in Eliot’s eyes as he followed the movement. Cupping his cheek, Eliot drew him closer and kissed him, gasping every other second as he continued to catch his breath. His insides flooding with a warmth that was more than just arousal, Quentin smiled against his mouth. If he could just lie here, in Eliot’s arms forever, he’d have everything he needed.

Eliot’s lips slowed against his without pulling away, and Quentin felt his hand drop from his cheek to run down his chest, his breath hitching when Eliot cupped him through his underwear. His fingers moved teasingly against him through the thin cotton of his underwear, and he bit back his groan. There was not a single part of him that didn’t want this, but he also didn’t want Eliot… didn’t want Eliot to think he… “You don’t have to…”

The pressure lifted from his cock, and his hips jerked forward before he could even think of resisting. “Why are you still wearing these?” Eliot hummed against his mouth, plucking at the top of his underwear.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Quentin forced his eyes open, caught Eliot’s gaze. “You don’t have to, though,” he said, trying to make his voice as steady as possible, trying to make sure Eliot _knew_. He was… This whole thing had been a barely thought out attempt to distract Eliot from whatever discomfort had been in, not to get off.

Eliot’s eyes were dark as he slipped the tips of his fingers underneath the band of his underwear, dancing his touch across his skin. “Take them off,” he said firmly, and Quentin wasn’t going to wait to be told again. Pushing them down his thighs, he kicked them off, his legs stuttering when Eliot wrapped his hand around him. Quentin’s head fell forward against Eliot’s shoulder, and when he started to stroke him he muffled his moan against his neck. “You’re really getting off on seeing me like this, aren’t you?” Eliot said, somehow managing to sound breathless and smug all at once.

Despite Eliot keeping his movements slow and steady, it only took a few minutes before Quentin was right on the edge, and he didn’t want to come yet, not if – his hand tightened on Eliot’s hip and he groaned, his hand faltering for a moment – not if he could wring another orgasm out of Eliot. “How much longer do you think it’ll last?” The healers had said an hour, right? He had no idea how much time had passed since Margo had called him after them.

Eliot huffed a laugh, canting his hips forward and Quentin felt his cock, hard again against his stomach. “I don’t know, I’ve been a little distracted.”

Grabbing Eliot’s wrist, he pulled his hand away and, in the same motion, pushed Eliot onto his back again. Leaning over him, he kissed him thoroughly, rolling his body against Eliot’s until he was quivering beneath him once more. He slid his hand down his body, bypassing his cock to guide his legs apart. “Do you think it’s just your skin?” Quentin murmured against his lips.

Eliot whimpered as his fingers danced over his balls. “What do you mean?”

In answer, Quentin shifted down slightly, slipping his hand lower, pressing his fingertip against his opening. Eliot’s shoulders pressed back into the bed, his chest lifting up, his legs falling further open as Quentin circled it lightly. “Oh Christ,” he gasped, leaning down into his touch. “Oh fuck. Get the – get the lube.”

Quentin climbed back up the bed so he could reach the bedside cabinet, grabbing the tube from the top draw. He repositioned himself between Eliot’s legs, squirting a generous helping of lube into his palm. Coating the first two fingers of his right hand, he worked them into Eliot while he slicked himself up with the other. “Hurry up and fuck me already,” Eliot said, his voice strained, his hips squirming. Quentin ignored him, continuing to press his fingers into him, curling them inside him until he found the spot he was looking for. Massaging his fingers against it, he watched as Eliot’s eyes closed, his jaw clenching, his breath coming out in a whine. “Ohh, oh my _god._ Quentin, if you don’t get inside me right now…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Eliot grabbed the pillow that he wasn’t using and shoved it underneath his hips as Quentin moved his legs further apart. One hand on Eliot’s knee, he lined himself up with the other, rocking against him a few times before he pressed into him. Eliot’s mouth hung open, his eyes squeezed shut, and Quentin was fairly sure he wasn’t breathing. He thrust into him slowly, carefully, pressing just a little deeper every time, and when he was as deep as he could get Eliot let out a ragged moan on his exhale. Quentin stilled, watching his face carefully. Tear tracks marked his skin and disappeared into his hair, his lower lip was indented from where he’d sunk his teeth into it, and he was fucking _quivering_. He looked – _fuck_ , he looked _wrecked_ , but he had to make sure it was still good, that it wasn’t too much. “Are you –“

He stopped when Eliot reached for him, pulling him down on top of him. Quentin took his lead easily, hooking his arms under his shoulders when Eliot wrapped his around his back, clinging to him tightly. “Move,” he rasped. “Mo-aahh.” His fingers dug into Quentin’s back as he pulled out, his word cutting off into a whine that changed into a deep moan when he pushed back in. “Oh fuck, fuck, Q, _oh_.”

And Quentin… it was too fucking much, feeling the heat of him clenching around him, his hands desperate on him, and he knew it was the spell, he knew that logically but there was also the fact that he was responding like this because of the things he was doing to him and he… he couldn’t take it. His body shook from the effort it took to keep his movements long and slow, to try and draw this out for as long as he could, but despite that it wasn’t long at all before it all started to overwhelm him and his thrusts turned erratic. He managed to hold on until Eliot cried out brokenly, his muscles tightening around him, his body jerking upwards as heat spurted over his stomach, and Quentin finally gave himself over to it, driving into him once, twice more before his mind went blank, every muscle in his body tensing as he came deep inside him.

It was a minute or so before Quentin realised that he was lying lifelessly on top of Eliot, his softening dick still inside him. He gathered himself, pulled out with a hiss and rolled sideways onto the bed beside him, still a little short of breath. He felt a touch to his stomach and saw Eliot’s hand fallen there, twitching in a failed caress of the backs of his fingers against his skin, and dropped his hand to rest on top of his. Staring at the ceiling, he felt all of his remaining tension build in his chest before it bubbled out of his throat in a laugh. “Wow.”

“Holy shit,” Eliot agreed.

“Yeah.” Turning his head, he looked Eliot over. He smiled back at him lazily, looking relaxed and languid, the opposite of how he’d been when he’d first entered the room. “Are you feeling okay?”

Eliot’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. “ _Now_ you’re worried about that?”

Lifting his shoulder so he half-rolled towards him, Quentin stared at him incredulously. “That was the _first_ thing I asked!”

“I know, calm down,” Eliot said with a laugh, smoothing his hand over his chest and pressing until Quentin was on his back again. “Let me try…”

Lifting Quentin’s arm, he slipped underneath it and then pulled it down around him, and something warm settled in Quentin with Eliot’s familiar weight over him, his hand twining through his and resting on his stomach, one leg hooked over his, his cheek pressed against his chest. Quentin carefully let his hand rest on Eliot’s waist. “Is this okay?”

Eliot was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I think it’s calming down,” he said eventually, and he felt his smile against his skin. “I’m sure it’s just wearing off naturally, nothing to do with your dick or anything.”

“Mmhmm, sure.”

Feeling almost embarrassingly light and happy, Quentin started to stroke his fingers up and down Eliot’s back, and was pleased when he relaxed into him further. “Yeah okay, that feels… kind of amazing,” he said, his voice soft and sleepy as he buried his face closer against Quentin.

“Maybe you can sleep the rest off,” he suggested quietly. It had to still be only mid-afternoon, but sleep sounded kind of amazing and he could only imagine the kind of exhaustion that must be settling in for Eliot.

Eliot made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat. “If you stop that I’ll kill you,” he murmured, and Quentin closed his eyes as he pressed a kiss to the side of Eliot’s head.

When they woke up, he had to remember to thank Margo.


End file.
